Love's Pilgrimage

In Love’s Fragile Flame Rose had

been faithful unto death.

She’d been swept into the campaign of terror

against England’s Reformation Christians

and barely survived the horrors of Newgate Prison.

Love’s Pilgrimage continues Rose’s story with

her marriage and new life as the wife of a

wealthy landowner. The trauma behind her,

certainly now she could enjoy the happiness

and security she well deserved—couldn’t she?

Through devastating twists and turns

Rose discovers that spiritual conflict within

can be more difficult to overcome than

physical persecution from without.

This e-book edition was published

in memory of the author, Phyllis Caggiano

(May 12, 1938 – October 28, 2007)

Love’s Pilgrimage

Phyllis Caggiano

Published by UCS PRESS at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by Gary Caggiano

First copyrighted 1986 by Phyllis Caggiano,

survived by her husband, Gary

UCS PRESS is an imprint of MarJim Books

PO Box 13025

Tucson, AZ 85732-3025

Cover design by Marty Dobkins

ISBN 978-0-943247-33-5

This edition contains the entire text content of the original trade

paperback edition published by Bethany House Publishers in 1986.

Publishing rights reverted to the surviving spouse, Gary Caggiano.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

EARTH, WATER, AIR and fire. These be the four elements of life out of which all else is made.

Mmm? Joan mumbled through a mouthful of pins as she hemmed Rose’s wedding dress.

‘Twas nothing, Rose replied. Merely a saying my father taught me long ago. She sighed and continued staring into the fire in the bedchamber hearth. Earth, water, air and fire. Which element shall have sovereignty in my life with Thomas, she wondered. She well knew the element which reigned in her first marriage—fire. ‘Twas a friendly element at first, warming the passion of first love, heating the coals in Derick’s forge as he labored in his smithy in Boxton, . making a cheery glow in the hearth of our cottage.

Suddenly the log on the hearth broke and tumbled into the ashes, sending long flaming tongues up the chimney. The vision of Derick tied to the stake on Boxton green flashed into her mind. She closed her eyes. Away, away, she commanded the terrible memory. I must think on pleasant matters. She looked down at little Derry seated on the floor. He too was staring into the fire with curious, but heavy-lidded eyes. As his head .dropped down, a black curl fell over his forehead just as his father’s had done. I have taken the right course. I am so lonely and Derry needs a father. Thomas is not at all like Derick except for his love for the Lord. She thought of the four elements and wondered again which would reign in her new marriage. Earth mayhap. Thomas would be taking Derry and her to live on the manor he had recently purchased in Suffolk. What could be more earthy than plowed fields, flocks of sheep and the scent of new-mown hay? Ah, but what of water. Water had played an important part in the events that led up to her meeting Thomas. Was it not here in Joan’s house, on London Bridge over the River Thames, that she had found refuge after Derick’s death? And had she not traveled across the North Sea in search of her brother Robin and found not only him but Thomas as well? And did not Thomas’s trade as merchant adventurer often take him across the seas? Yea, water it would be, she told herself, not realizing how apt the symbol was to prove. For water takes on many forms—the gentle meandering river ofttimes wells up into a destructive flood, and the calm surface of the sea can conceal hidden obstacles and dangerous undercurrents.

You shall make a beautiful bride, I will say that much, Joan said as she struggled to her feet. She helped Rose out of the wedding gown and into her everyday clothes. Derry cannot keep his eyes open, she said. Poor lad, ‘tis the last night he’ll be sharing his mother’s bed.

Of a truth, Joan, Rose protested, you speak as if ‘twill be a funeral instead of a wedding tomorrow. We’ve—

Mistress, quickly! a servant girl exclaimed as she burst into the bedchamber. The Queen’s Majesty herself. Her royal barge is being towed up and down the river. There are hundreds of other boats about and fireworks and trumpeting!

Our new monarch does enjoy displaying herself to her subjects, Joan said as she scooped up Derry. Come, little sleepy head. You shall not see pageantry like this in Suffolk. She and Rose followed the servant girl into the narrow lane which separated the rows of shops and houses on London Bridge. They found an open space between two shops across the way where they could look out onto the river toward Baynard’s castle. It was a fine May evening as the setting sun gilded the rippling surface of the Thames.

I can see Queen Elizabeth seated on a throne in the middle of the barge, said the servant girl.

Joan squinted into the setting sun. Nonsense, girl, the barge is too far down river. With all the boats hovering about it, I can scarce see its banners waving, much less make out human forms.

I would like to see Her Majesty face-to-face one day, said Rose. I feel akin to her. We were both born on the seventh day of September in 1533; both unfairly imprisoned, she in the Tower and I in Newgate Prison; and God’s hand delivered both of us through perilous times. I am joyed that God has blessed her with a crown and kingdom.

Dear friend, you have endured more sorrow than she. Where is your crown and kingdom?

Rose reached over and caressed Derry’s black curls. Here is my joy and crown. As for a kingdom, well, mine is the kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ. By His mercy He has allowed me to dwell in it.

Joan shook her head slowly. I marvel at your trust in God, and ofttimes—her robust voice softened—ofttimes I covet such belief.

If you truly desired to believe, you would. But I know you too well, Joan Denly. You would ever rule your own kingdom.

Hmmph. If I hadn’t taken a hand in my own affairs years ago, I would be another poor widow begging on the streets or rotting away in some almshouse. She hoisted Derry on her hip and pulled herself up to her full height, towering over Rose. I built this business up after my man died, and now there’s no more prosperous mercer in all of London. I need not bow to any man—which brings me back to the morrow. Why this haste to tie yourself to a husband? And if you will insist on marrying, at least wait a bit. I can introduce you to some fine young bucks. Remember the saying, She who marries in May shall rue the day."

Rose laughed. You’ve only quoted it fifty times since the wedding bans were posted. Thomas Stratton is a fine Christian gentleman; I am a widow with a child and not a pence to my name. Besides, what would entice one of your ‘young bucks’ to marry me when he could have a wealthy young bride?

Oh, and are you so ancient at six and twenty years? Well, lady, they would be enticed by the same qualities that please your Thomas. You are a comely, intelligent woman with as fair and clever a child as ever born.

I won’t deny the latter. There was a burst of fireworks about a hundred yards downriver and Joan raised Derry up to the ledge of the stone wall for a better view. Have a care, Joan, he’ll fall into the water.

Verily, you are a mother hen clucking over her one chick, chided Joan. Let the child enjoy the sight. He won’t be able to see fireworks in the wilds of Suffolk.

Hardly the wilds. I’ve seen a sketch of the manor house, and it could easily house four of your shops, including your living quarters above. And Bury St. Edmunds, no small town, is but a few miles away. Rose patted her friend’s shoulder. I shall miss you and be forever grateful for the way you’ve sheltered Derry and me. You will come and visit us?

I’m not a traveler like that Thomas of yours, but yes, I may visit sometime. Although I’m no lover of farms and the beasts that reside on them. A glorified farm is all your grand manor is, you know.

Nevertheless, ‘twill be good for Derry to be raised where the air is wholesome, replied Rose. I fear the plague here in London now that summer is approaching. She touched Derry’s cheek. He seems a bit feverish.

Joan put her lips to Derry’s forehead. Bah. He’s a healthy lad and big for his two and half years, I’ll ween.

Aye, he shall be as tall as his father.

After a few minutes silence Joan asked, Will you tell him what befell his father?

Oh, when he can bear the hearing of it and when I—her voice broke— when I can bear to tell him. He shall hear it all. Rose stared out across the water. The sun had disappeared and the royal barge along with the attending boats were fading into floating shadows in the distance. She thought back to her moments with Derick, just minutes before his death at the stake. She tried to recall his face, but the image faded in her memory. However, she could still remember the feel of their last embrace and the sound of his voice as he had prayed, Father in heaven, take care of them, Rose and the babe. Be my strength this day. Let me die praising your name. God had answered his prayer. His death and the deaths of hundreds of other Protestant martyrs had been testimonies of the truth of God’s Word. And the Lord had taken care of Derick’s child that she had been carrying when he died. Derry had been healthy at birth, even in that miserable prison cell, and Joan’s rescue of the babe had been nothing but miraculous. Now God was providing a husband for her and someone to care for Derry. How could she not tell the lad all this when he grew older? Joan’s voice broke her reverie. She was rocking Derry in her arms and crooning to him.

Poor little lamb, soon to have a strange man ordering him about.

Thomas is not a stranger, Joan. I lived with the exiles in the English house in Emden long enough to know him well.

Horsefeathers. You never truly know a man until you’ve shared his bed and board. Why, my old man used to— She paused as the two saw Thomas approach. Although it was now twilight, they could see him clearly as he paused under a newly lit torch on the wall of a shop. He was hatless and wearing a broad-shouldered cape of dark red velvet. His light brown hair caught the glow of the torchlight. He smiled when he spotted Rose by the wall and came toward them. A handsome dog, I’ll grant you that, Joan loudly whispered.

Rose nodded and smiled. Although not tall, Thomas did have finely wrought features and moved with a manly grace, but it was the confident, kindly look about his eyes that pleased her most.

Good evening, ladies. He nodded to Joan and gave Rose a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

Tush, the bridegroom should not see the bride on the eve of the wedding; ‘twill bring bad luck, Joan chided.

An old wives’ tale, Thomas answered without taking his eyes off Rose.

Hmm, well, this old wife must go inside, Joan said. I know when my presence is not desired. She started to hand Derry over to Rose but Thomas held up his hand.

Would you be so kind as to take the lad inside with you? he asked. He should be abed by now.

Oh, but there may be more fireworks and he loves them so, Rose protested.

The lad needs his sleep, Thomas said firmly, and took her hand as he added in gentler tones, and I desire to speak with you privately.

Very well, Thomas. Joan, do you mind?

Joan shifted Derry over to her other shoulder and stepped back from the couple with exaggerated motions as Derry began to cry, Boat, boats—I want to stay and see lights.

There, there, dearling, Joan said as she gave him a loud thump on the back. Master Stratton says you should be abed, and he must be obeyed even if he is not your true father.

I pray you’ll forgive Joan, Rose apologized when Joan was out of hearing. She loves Derry and me as if we were her kin and just desires our happiness.

‘Tis all I desire also, Thomas replied. There was a moment of awkward silence and they both turned to look out upon the darkening river. Finally Thomas cleared his throat and said, All is in readiness for the wedding feast. My cook informed me she spent the day running from shop to marketplace procuring divers dainties to feed our guests. Oh, forgive me, dear. I should have had her consult with you about the food.

Nay, Thomas, I have never entertained gentry. I would die of fright if I had to do it on my own. As it is, I fear I will embarrass you before your guests.

Our guests, he said as he took her hands, and you could never embarrass me. He was standing so close to her, she wished that he would take her in his arms and kiss her as Derick would have done, no matter how many people were about. But he wasn’t Derick, and she told herself that she must stop expecting him to behave as Derick would. Thomas was more controlled, more formal in public, as a gentleman should be. Besides, since his proposal the month before, they had scarcely been alone together for more than a few moments at a time. He had made two trips to the Suffolk manor, and the rest of the time he had been occupied with his business. He had devoted the last five years to meeting the needs of the exiled Protestants who had fled England and Queen Mary’s persecution. Now he had to reestablish his contacts with English clothmakers and revive his foreign trade. Once we are married and away from the city, we will be more at ease with each other, she thought.

I have a little gift for you, Thomas said, but the light is dimming and I fear you cannot see it.

We could go into Joan’s house, she suggested.

Nay, I wish to show it to you privately. Here, stand in the torchlight. He pulled out a little leather pouch and turning his back so as to shield the object from the view of passersby, he held it out to her. It was a ruby the size of a robin’s egg encased in gold filigree.

How beautiful! she exclaimed, but she drew her hand back when a sudden thought occurred to her. Was it—I mean, did it belong to—?

"This stone was my mother’s. My father acquired it from a Spaniard who claimed it came from China and may have belonged to the royal family there. I did present it to Audrey after we wed, but she never wore it. She had many jewels of her own